Feel Again
by hardly loquacious
Summary: Prompt: Jane/Lisbon: "Been feeling better ever since you known me/I was a lonely soul/but that's the old me/a little wiser now/but you show me/I can feel again". (From One Republic's 'Feel Again'). Unforgiveably delayed gift!fic for For Brown Eyes Parker,


A/N: SO, back in er, November or so, I offered to write people holiday fic. Now, obviously they did not all get written over the holidays... (Sorry! I did finish over half!) I have always intended to finish the requests, with the new (somewhat more realistic goal) of writing them over the course of the year. So if there is anyone else there who requested something and has yet to receive it, I promise I have not forgotten you. I have been distracted by a new fandom. And also, I'm in the middle of an unfortunate case of writer's block. So I've turned to my one-shots for inspiration. This one is for Brown Eyes Parker, who probably doesn't even remember her prompt anymore. But I hope you like it!

For Brown Eyes Parker, Prompt: Jane/Lisbon: "Been feeling better ever since you known me/I was a lonely soul/but that's the old me/a little wiser now/but you show me/I can feel again". (From One Republic's 'Feel Again')

Feel Again

xxx

It was easier to shut down.

Far easier.

Keep a tight lid on your emotions, observe of course. Watch other people, obviously. Be sensitive to their emotional needs, sympathetic even. Definitely respond; possibly offer some kind of support. But always maintain a certain degree of distance.

Objectivity was paramount. No need to get caught up in the tangled confusion of emotion, unless it's absolutely necessary.

Anyway, emotions remind you of the past, bring up past pain. Important to be aware of other people's emotions in your job, but your own aren't helpful. Easier to ignore, more straightforward that way. Keep everything as casual as possible

Less chance of things getting messy, complicated. Less chance of more pain.

You don't do complicated. Not in your personal life.

You get enough puzzle from murders.

And you've already had enough pain to last you a lifetime. You're quite happy to see the end of it.

Besides, closeness wasn't a thing you ever needed. Not for years now.

So it's particularly irritating that it's somehow snuck up on you.

You're not sure how.

You're pretty sure it started with tea.

Of all the absurd things.

But that's what you associate it with in your mind. Shared cups of tea, late at night, when all sane people should have gone home.

Not that the two of you ever did though. (You still don't.) Which really should tell you something.

Except that you've already questioned your own sanity more than once. Over any number of things.

It really was the cups of tea that started it. Eyes meeting over the rims of steaming cups. Lonely eyes. You've seen enough eyes like that over the years to know exactly what they meant.

_I need a friend_.

You remember being vaguely disappointed that you couldn't fill that role. But you _couldn't_.

You don't get close to people.

Even without the complication of a serial killer, it's not something that you were willing to risk.

Still, those eyes were dangerous. Pleading you to do... something. Anything.

You never could figure out why, not at the time at least, but you couldn't do nothing.

So you tried empathy, and when that didn't work you just tried to be _there_, to be present. Tried to comfort, in a generic kind of way.

You've never been particularly good at comforting people.

Except, then generic sympathy somehow turned into a kind of genuine fondness (you're pretty sure that one happened over an impromptu ice cream sundae).

Genuine fondness shifted to respect.

Respect to understanding.

Understanding to friendship. Maybe even partnership.

That was bad enough. You were sure it would end there. Surely it couldn't go any farther. Farther would be insanity. Unthinkable.

But maybe it was never your choice.

Because somehow the friendship's shifting again. Much as you try and deny it. (And most of the time you can, and quite effectively too.) But when you're honest, you know it's true; it is shifting. Shifting into something you're almost too frightened to give a name to.

And in spite of the terror that sometimes wakes you up at night, when you do manage to sleep, you can't bring yourself to regret it.

It's brought you something, something you hadn't even realized you missed.

You'd almost convinced yourself you didn't need it. Didn't want it. That things were _easier_ without it.

Until the quiet ache inside you was suddenly filled. Then you knew. You knew exactly how much you've missed.

You've missed having a person that matters that much. You've missed having a confidante, a partner, a person to rely on.

You've missed the warmth in your chest when your partner (_your_ partner) walks through the door. You've missed the rapid heartbeat. You've missed the subtle nerves you'd never every admit to, that seem to crop up at the strangest of times.

You've even missed being knocked off balance by a smile.

Which is another thing you'd never admit, even under torture.

You fought against it for a while. When you finally admitted its existence of course.

But you can feel yourself slowly succumbing to the inevitable. Seeking it out even. Just to get a hint of the feeling.

Of feeling.

You honestly never realized how lonely you were after years of telling yourself you didn't need anyone.

But maybe you do.

One person at least.

Even if it's also unwanted, and irritating, and not supposed to exist, and generally just frustrating as hell.

You try not to think about how much you could get done without this complication in your life.

You try not to think about a lot of things too much.

That just brings your heart to your throat and makes you feel like trembling. Another feeling (you're ashamed to say) you've started to take a perverse pleasure in.

Tea's never meant so much to you. Especially when drunk late at night. With someone else. It makes you not want to leave early on those odd nights it's even an option.

Tea.

A hug in a cup.

A sort of soothing blanket that wraps around you, makes you feel warm, inside and out.

Tea and a smile and conversation.

And secrets. You've heard a few that way. You've stored them away, each little nugget of information, carefully won. You want more. You want so much more. (You know you might never get it.)

You know it's insanity. You know exactly how insane it is.

Insane and just plain dangerous.

But somehow you don't care.

Because for the first time in a long time, you almost feel whole. You feel connected to the human race again.

You're feeling.

And yes, it's a lot of pain and fear.

But that's not all. There's something else.

A kind of pleasure, and maybe even hope. Even if you never tell anyone, it's there. And it's _yours_.

And that's what keeps you doggedly knocking at the attic door, week after week when most people would have given up ages ago.

Because you need this.

And you're beginning to realize that he does to.

"Jane! It's Lisbon. I need you."

xxx

The end


End file.
